


His Saving Grace

by D0ll



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D0ll/pseuds/D0ll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sansa," he says her name like a prayer and hugs her tighter reassuring himself she’s still there and still safe. "We were patrolling, when we saw them, white walkers a hundred paces in front of us. They were attacking a family, one of them had a woman by the throat with red hair just like yours." He swallowed, "He killed her before I could get to him. For a terrible moment I thought she was you. We charged them and I cut off his head, we killed them all. Then we burned the bodies of the family, there was so much blood."</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Saving Grace

The early morning light shines through the crack of the door to her room as it is pushed open, Sansa always a light sleeper, blinks and rubs her eyes groggily. Still half asleep when she hears what sounds like Jon's feet shuffling and sat up to see Jon standing on the other side of the room.

His dark clothes are drenched in dirt, blood and snow. Jon looks savage, wild untamed black curls, dark piercing gray eyes and his imposing muscular build. He looks an avenging god of war standing before her bed and Sansa is completely breath taken.

It had been many weeks since she saw her husband last, so she rubs her eyes to make sure if he’s really there or if she’s merely dreaming. When she opens her eyes again and sees Jon still there, his black stiletto against the early dawn light.

Jon didn't seem to notice Sansa had woken up, he tosses his swords and they land on the floor with loud thuds, then he removes his heavy and thick fur coat and adds it to the pile, next he’s leaning down to remove his boots. Everything is done with such urgency she hopes he doesn’t fall by accident, Jon throws the boots on top of the coat carelessly. His movements are more rough and quick than Sansa is used to expecting from him, it makes her wonder worriedly if anything went wrong. Was his patrolling was unsuccessful? Is one of his men hurt or worse dead? But her thoughts are put on hold when the bed shifts Jon is crawling on his hands and knees to the head of the bed where she lay quietly and nervous. So much time had passed since she seen him last. Should she greet him with a hug, or a kiss or should she just let him sleep and rest in a warm bed she's sure he must be happy to not to have to sleep on a pile of leaves tonight. 

Jon usually keeps a respectful distance between her and him, but now he shuffles as close as possible to her, his warm breath ghosting over her skin. He wrapped his strong arm around her and drug her even closer to him then he buried his chilly face into her neck and breathed in her scent.

He’s different from usual, aggressive instead of gentle and silent instead of greeting her politely. “Jon? Is anything wrong?” Sansa didn’t mind his touches, how many nights has she spent longing for an intimate and loving marriage instead of one of necessity? But she can’t help but wonder if something has happened because Jon never acts like this. He always is distant and aloof.

"Sansa," he says her name like a prayer and hugs her tighter as if to reassure himself that she was still there and still safe. "We were patrolling, when we saw them, white walkers a hundred paces in front of us. They were attacking a family, one of them had a woman by the throat with red hair just like yours." He swallowed, "He killed her before I could get to him. For a terrible moment I thought she was you. We charged them and I cut off his head, we killed them all. Then we burned the bodies of the family, there was so much blood."

"Oh Jon," her heart was pounding so hard she thinks he can feel it.

"When the war happened I lost our-your father, your mother, Rob, Arya, Bran and Rikon. When I was lonely, I thought of you, I wondered if you were alive or dead. As the war continued, I lost more and more hope, I wished for it all to be over. I wished death would come," Sansa gasped, "Then it did. And I was brought back but I wasn't happy about it. The only thing that kept me going was you, knowing you might still be alive, knowing I had family out there somewhere. Who was I to let myself die, if you might be out there somewhere needing me? You’re the only family I have left. If I were to lose you, I’d go mad. Like I did when I saw that white walker kill that girl." Her bottom lip trembled, she sees a young Jon Snow, all his family and friends dead, forcing himself to live for her, knowing her memory is what helped kept him going is shattering to her. Jon never opened himself up to her before through their whole marriage Jon’s treated her like she was made of porcelain, something fragile and breakable, but now he’s treating her like a wife hugging her tightly to him.

“We were attacked coming home, we lost good men, we were half starved, do you know what kept me alive? You again. Knowing you were here in my bed waiting for me. My beautiful wife.” His voice is low, raspy and needy. It's been so long since she's seen this side of Jon, since he was a young boy, brooding around Winterfell. The war forced him to grow up, just like it forced her. Around his men he speaks with so much authority and confidence knowing he saves this softer side of himself for her and only her warmed her heart. "I’m a bastard still, I never thought I’d have a wife like you. I don’t deserve you, Sansa.” He whimpers her name his fingers are trembling as he strokes her soft fair skin. The softest skin his rough hands has ever felt.

"Jon!" She said in shock. "You’re the Queen’s nephew, you could have your choice of any of the noble women in Westeros. I thought you only picked me because you felt sorry for me."

"Sorry for you?" He repeated her words utterly confused "Never. I love you Sansa."

Sansa sat upright in her bed only to see Jon rising up out of their bed “I’m sorry. I've been drinking I was too forward.”

Sansa slipped her arms around his torso from behind. “It’s alright.” She assured him, “I love you too.”

Jon turned his face towards her, his dark gray eyes wide with shock by her admittance than she was by his, “You love me? How could someone like you love me? A Targaryen bastard. I’ve killed so many people I’ve lost track. I’ve broken every oath I ever took. I’ve betrayed people. You are so kind and good, the only thing pure thing my life has ever known. I’m not like your father or your brother. I'm not an honorable man.”

"You’re a victor." Sansa corrected him stubbornly tilting his head toward her. Honor, it only brought death on her family, she rather Jon be without it. "You're a good man and I accept you. I love you."

Sansa doesn’t, can’t fathom how much her words, her acceptance and love effects him. Jon’s can’t express verbally how much he needs her, how utterly crazy he’d go if she was taken from him. So he just clings on to her, she hugs him back, her dainty hands stroking his muscular back tenderly, “I’m right here, Jon. I’m not going anywhere.” She reassures him. Jon breathes in and out shakily, letting her words soak in to him, lifts her up into his arms and places her gently down on bed. He stands up next to her, his thumb stroking her cheek tenderly.

“The war changed us all.” She told him trying to make him understand. “No one has come out of it pure, including me, I wish everyday for my family back, I wish the war never happened.”

Jon smiled bitterly, he tried to hide it from her by turning his face quickly away from her. But Sansa had noticed it, “What??” She asked firmly, demanding to know what he found so funny and sat up not understanding why he’d laugh at a time like this when she was being serious.

"See Sansa, that’s where we are different. If the war never happened what would have become of me? I would still be some lowly bastard, freezing back on the wall for the rest of my days and you would have married some rich and handsome noble. Without one thought of your bastard brother. But the war did happen and now I’m king of the North! Nephew to the Queen. I'm a prince now! Without the war I wouldn’t have you, you wouldn’t need me, a marriage to me would have disgraced you. So bring on the war, bring on the dragons, bring on the white walkers and the wildlings and all the families of Westeros, I’d fight them all, for you." Sansa is speechless, she can’t deny the truth of his dark words, even though they break her heart, as a young girl she dreamed of marrying some noble knight not a bastard like Jon, she treated him horribly in the past. So his feelings of inadequacy are partly her fault.

Jon stared at the floor drained, “Surely, you don’t mean that… Mother and father and Robb,” her words are caught in her throat, how can she ever fully explain everything the war has taken from her, from them both?

"I didn’t want them die either, don’t be mistaken, but can I say I regret the war, even after all it’s robbed from me? No, I can’t because it’s brought me you. I desired you since we were children and without the war I would have still be your bastard brother and you wouldn’t have looked twice at me." Jon takes a deep breath, his confession seems to have drained him. Jon doesn’t look at her, he doesn’t wish to see her horrified expression.

But to his surprise, Sansa leans into him, tracing his jawline with her long fingers, Jon covers her hand with his own and presses it to his face firmer, his head bowing down as he leaned into her touch like a puppy.

"You may not think I do, but I do want you. I want your touch, I want you in my bed, I missed you so much when you were gone. I don’t care who you were or who you are now. I’ll still want you no matter what. My handsome husband. You protect me and treat me so well. I love you." Jon gazed up at her adoringly, the way her father would look at her mother, Jon was looking at her the way Sansa always dreamed her husband would. He’s cupping her face and kissing her desperately.

Jon kisses and strokes her skin worshippingly, “I love you so much,” he lets out, their foreheads pressed together, his fingers tangled in her thick red hair. “You're my salvation.” He needed her as much as she needed him. Without Sansa he’d be utterly alone, with a home, without a family, without love.

"Make love to me." Sansa says suddenly, unflinchingly, she doesn’t want their usual formal ritual, she wants passion, she wants his wildness, fierceness she wants all off him.

Jon’s eyes darken with lust they appeared black, as soon as she lets out the words. But Sansa is impatient and she makes the first move, he actually shudders when she kisses him, but when she pulls him down on the bed her his reaction is swift, before she knows it he’s tugging off his shirt and throwing it across the room. Sansa looks at his bare chest, he’s covered in scars, scratches and bruises. But somehow it makes him more attractive to her. He looks masculine, dangerous, a survivor. She rubs her hands down his stomach, and traces one of his scars with her finger. She feels his breath hitch and looks up at him curiously at him wanting to see her effect on him, Jon’s eyes are closed, until he opens them and sees her looking at him. He grabs the back of her head roughly, pulling her to him, his lips crash down on her. Sansa lifts her hands up and Jon lifts her bed clothes over her head, tossing it next to his shirt.

Jon stares at her naked form, enraptured before he’s kissing her, his hands touching her skin everywhere greedily. He rolls her down on the bed, hovering over her like a predator, he pulls down his pants, afterwards he grabs her milky thighs pulling them apart lying in between them, in an instant he’s inside her, Sansa cries out, for so long shes been without with this is the first time she’s felt full, complete in months. Jon is motionless except for his shaky breaths for a moment his expression reads like hers until he’s not, until he’s pounding into her, his hard, filled with dark primal need, and he’s kissing her hard enough to bruise but its nothing Sansa doesn’t want. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist, her nails leaving long red scratches into his back rolling her hips with his, moaning his name, as Jon groans bracing his hand on the wall.

"I didn’t hurt you, did I?" Jon asks her afterward, concerned as he strokes her hair gently.

"No, not all," she tells him, a small contented smile on her face, Jon returns. She caresses his skin tenderly, Jon moaning softly, with anyone else he’s dangerous but around her he’s completely disarmed and vulnerable and falls asleep in her arms.


End file.
